


Sharing is caring

by lauraloves



Category: Ylvis
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 08:35:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3930142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lauraloves/pseuds/lauraloves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cohabitation wasn't the domestic paradise he had originally envisioned. In fact, sometimes it was downright annoying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharing is caring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pyou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyou/gifts).



> Silly little thing I wrote for Pyou, as word on the street (ie tumblr) is it's her birthday! 
> 
> I turned the fluff up to 11, yo.

It wasn't like he had OCD or anything, but Calle lived by a mantra: "a place for everything, and everything in its place". The thing is, he just liked things a certain way. His professional life was so hectic and crazy at times, he just liked to go home and have some semblance of control over his surroundings. This extended to everything, from the organisation of his kitchen cupboards to the clothes he wore. He often liked to mentally plan what he was going to wear each day, usually whilst brushing his teeth or making the morning coffee. He often found it prudent to locate the day's outfit, check it for wrinkles and creases and lay it out neatly for when he got out of the shower. Sometimes he spread the clothes out across the bed, unfolding the entire outfit as if to look like a flattened, invisible man was lying there. That's exactly what he was doing right now. He wanted to check his brand new t-shirt looked okay with his favourite jeans. As almost an afterthought, he plucked a fresh pair of boxers and some socks from his dresser, placing them on top his invisible man.

 He stepped into the shower, noticing what appeared to be a little heart drawn in the condensation of the shower screen. His mouth quirked up into a smile at the sweet sentiment, until on closer inspection he found that the 'heart' was actually a crudely-drawn penis. He rolled his eyes and turned up the stream of water. 

When he was finished he reached for his favourite towel, only to find it damp. Evidently, somebody had used it and placed it back on the towel rack. He swore under his breath before reaching for a smaller, markedly inferior towel. He pulled it around his waist, frowning when he found it barely covered his butt.  

He muttered to himself whilst moving from the en suite to his bedroom. He shivering slightly, for his skin was still damp and hair dripping wet. One disadvantage of growing his hair out was that he now had to towel dry it. He tried to locate a towel in the airing cupboard but found none. Where were all his towels lately? Well, he knew the answer to that question. It was the same reason he found empty juice containers in the fridge, why unopened letters littered his coffee table and why his bathroom cabinet was full of contact lens solution. Cohabitation wasn't the domestic paradise he had originally envisioned. In fact, sometimes it was downright annoying. 

The annoyance increased when he glanced at the bed and noticed his t-shirt was conspicuously absent. He rolled his eyes and padded downstairs in search of the culprit. It didn't take long to locate him; he simply followed the clattering sound of metal accompanied by low cursing. Bård was in the kitchen trying to push in the dishwasher rack, with little success. Crockery clattered as he pulled the rack out again and attempted to jam it in with force. 

"Hey hey hey! You're going to break it if you keep doing that!" Calle yelled over the din. 

"It's already broken, piece of crap" came the muttered reply. Bård was still crouched on the floor, facing away from Calle. A brief look at the younger man's attire confirmed Calle's suspicions; the distinctive blue t-shirt was on Bård's back, paired with the grey sweatpants the younger man often wore around the house. They were old as fuck and full of holes, but Bård loved them. Despite Calle buying him new pairs Bård still insisted on wearing his tried and tested. 

"You need to put the bigger plates on the edges. That's why it's not closing. The mechanism can't turn if you have bulky items in the middle" Calle explained. Bård had the grace to look momentarily abashed at his own stupidity, and started doing as instructed. "You know, for a smart man you can be exceptionally stupid at times", Calle added, appreciating the view of Bård's butt as he finally pushed the rack inside with no resistance. 

Bård looked up at that, noticing for the first time Calle's naked state. "And for a man who has lots of clothes, you can be exceptionally naked at times". He retorted, checking out the older man unashamedly as he rose to his feet. 

Calle crossed the kitchen in rapid bounds, clamping onto Bård fully. Bård yelped as Calle squeezed him tight and shook his head like a dog, causing drops of water to splatter over his face and neck. "Ah what the fuck Calle?"

"You used my towel to dry yourself, so I'm drying myself on you!" He smiled, feeling the other squirm more and more the tighter he squeezed.

"Oh, MY towel, is it? I was under the impression we shared towels" Bård teased. He reached around and loosened the towel around Calle's waist, causing it to drop to the floor. "You know, there are some obvious advantages to being your towel" Bård mused, running a hand over Calle's bare ass. The older one groaned at the touch, but pulled away reluctantly. He knew they wouldn't have time to start anything as Bård had a meeting to get to later that morning. It was typical Bård behaviour to work Calle into a frenzy and leave him high and dry.  

"Nice try, but I'm not here to jump you. You're not that irresistible" Calle looked down, fingering the hem of the t-shirt. "By the way, nice t-shirt you're wearing".

Bård smirked. "Oh this? It's just something I found lying around" he leaned back, holding his arms outwards to show off the garment. 

"Lying around on MY clothes pile, you mean. That's what I was planning on wearing today!"

"Oh sweetie, you can't pull this off" Bård drawled in his over-exaggerated Californian accent, running his hand over his torso. 

"Oh yea?" Calle reached forward, grasping the t-shirt and attempting to literally pull it off Bård. The younger man struggled against Calle, and both laughed throughout the little tussle. Play fights like this had always been common, even before the two men had become lovers. The key difference between then and now was that they finally had new, delicious ways to ease the building tension. So it was only inevitable that their lips would collide hungrily as fumbling hands finally made purchase on burning skin and pulled them closer together. 

 Perversely, this was the exact moment Calle became self-conscious of his naked state, which made his level of arousal more than evident to his teasing lover. This set into mind a chain of thoughts leading to the answer to a question he had yet to ask: where were his boxer shorts anyway? As much as it pained him to pull away, he withdrew and hooked his thumb under the waistband of Bård's sweatpants. Sure enough, he recognised the colour and the designer brand label along the top of the boxers Bård was wearing. 

"You have a nerve, young man" he tutted, slipping a finger under the elastic and pulling the other close once more. Bård moaned into the kiss as Calle forced their pelvises to meet, resulting in a pleasing friction that sent his own pulse racing. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about" Bård teased, mouth millimetres away from Calle's own.

"It's bad enough that you're stealing my t-shirts, but underwear?"

"All my boxer shorts are dirty" Bård offered as an explanation, dipping his head down to plant distracting kisses along the other's jawline. 

"Well wash them then! I'm not your maid" Calle groaned, trying to keep the irritation in his tone but failing due to the heady sensation the gentle kisses.

Bård giggled into his neck. "Such a shame" he replied huskily. "You would look really hot in one of those French maid costumes. You know, with the apron and the short skirt"

"And you'd STILL steal my clothes!" Calle replied with incredulity. 

"Skirts are comfortable" Bård replied nonchalantly.  They both sniggered at the silly turn in the conversation. "Besides, I like wearing your clothes. And I wouldn't object to you wearing anything of mine". The younger man absentmindedly pushing a damp strand of hair behind Calle's ear. The gesture was loving and tender; the enthusiastic fervour of just a few moments before abated. "Your hair is getting long again" he smiled. 

Calle found himself staring at Bård, as he was often prone to doing at random moments through the day. Like when the other buttoned his shirt in front of the mirror, practised on his guitar, or even when he put his lenses in. Those beautiful little mundane moments he wouldn't be privy to had he not been willing to share his space. As if opposite poles of a magnet, they felt themselves drawn together once more, finding a perfect fit in the other's lips. The two kissed languidly as the sounds of a tinny commercial jingle streamed from the kitchen radio. 

Calle could cope with clothing thievery, reckless handling of kitchen appliances, coats not being placed on the rack, cold feet in bed, bank statements not being shredded, dirty shoes in the hallway, duvet hogging, breadcrumbs on the counter, overflowing trash bags...

He would accept it all gladly for the spontaneous moments of joy that punctuated their domestic life. 


End file.
